


Ready to Lose

by stardropdream



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Multi, Polyamory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-08
Updated: 2015-09-08
Packaged: 2018-04-19 19:10:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4757666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardropdream/pseuds/stardropdream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anne isn't sure what she's meant to do in this situation, wonders if it's supposed to be this awkward. She's never had to meet her boyfriend's boyfriend before, after all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ready to Lose

**Author's Note:**

  * For [songdances](https://archiveofourown.org/users/songdances/gifts).



> Another prompt that has been sitting for a long time and I finally finished. Alright, just... one of my biggest wishes on my "season 3 wish list" is for Anne and Porthos to interact ~~and bond over their stupid boyfriend~~. In the meantime, I'll just write silly AU ideas that involve them meeting. I tried to make this as little "tumblr 101 explains poly relationships" as humanly possible but apologies if it slipped in.

Anne puts on her pearl earrings – studies herself in the mirror – and takes them out again. Then replaces them again and studies her reflection, critical eye and shaking fingertips. She shouldn’t be worried and yet she is. She wonders if it is somehow too elegant or not elegant enough. If it means she is trying too hard or showboating. 

If Aramis were here, he’d part her hair at her neck and kiss down the curve of her neck and tell her she’s beautiful. He’d likely try to convince her that she’s beautiful in _only_ the earrings. And then they’d be late to meet Aramis’ boyfriend and it’d likely make a terrible first impression. 

Although, perhaps Aramis’ boyfriend would understand the level of distraction Aramis can bring a man or woman to. They had, after all, been together for a number of years, as Aramis has told her. She tries to remember every detail, so she won’t embarrass herself. 

She puts the earrings back in. 

It’s something akin to meeting the parents for the first time – although perhaps making the comparison only demonstrates just how out of her element she feels. It’s a strange concept to consider that meeting your boyfriend’s boyfriend has somehow become a level of _normal_ for you. Then again, even a year ago she couldn’t imagine herself in this situation. Couldn’t imagine herself _okay_ with this situation. But she’s trying. 

Then again, perhaps a family comparison isn’t so far-fetched and reaching in terms of awkwardness. Why shouldn’t meeting Aramis’ boyfriend feel the same as meeting her own parents again for the first time in years? Close as she is to her brother, and not as close as she is to her parents, they are all in Spain and therefore well beyond the reach of a “we just dropped by for the weekend” kind of deal – and when they _do_ appear, it is nothing short of awkward and unpleasant for all involved. Then again, she hasn’t really told her parents yet about the _true_ reason for her divorce, nor has she had the heart to tell them that she is well in love with a man and they’re together – although he is not monogamous. 

She knows what her mother’s reaction would be, at least. She hasn’t even broached the subject with her brother, if only because she fears that really would result in a surprise weekend visit from him – and not a fun kind, either, but more the kind that would leave Aramis with a broken nose. Aramis has teased at the idea a few times but Anne knows that the threat is very real when it comes to her brother. She’s quite fond of his nose, and quite fond of him not getting into a punching match with her beloved brother. 

She takes the earrings back out again and fiddles with them. She brushes her fingers through her hair, tries to get the wisps of her blonde hair to frame her face in the way she likes, the way that complements her bone structure. She tugs. Fiddles. Flips hair behind her ear, then untucks it again.

She knows how she presents. She has been called heartless too many times not to know that her reservations tend to present as aloofness. She wants to make a good impression on Porthos. She’s heard so much about him, after all, and she wants to be supportive – she wants to be with Aramis for a long time, loves him too much to consider letting him go. The only reason it’s taken so long for her to actually set about this meeting is because of her own jealousy – her own adjustment to the idea of Aramis’ untraditional approach to relationships. She feels the hypocrite, considering she first fell in love with Aramis while still struggling to maintain a failing marriage. Aramis has never lied about who he is and who he loves. And yet, she is jealous of it all still – jealous of all the years that she can never gain, jealous of the easiness with which Aramis speaks of Porthos, jealous of the shared home they occupy together. 

Still, she can’t doubt that Aramis loves her too – can see it in the way he smiles at her, touches the small of her back, touches at her face like she is precious and everything he could ever hope for – and there’d been a long, painful few months in which she’d torn herself apart with the thought that she _isn’t_ everything he could hope for, that there could still be a need to fill his heart with more. 

She knows it isn’t the way Aramis is, isn’t the way he loves – and yet she can only imagine what Aramis’ boyfriend would think, to see that jealousy, to see that envy, to understand how truly ugly she feels in these moments. 

She thinks she’s ready now, though. At least, better to have it be known now than hide it away for too long, until it twists and manifests, and she truly becomes someone unlovable. If she goes too long not meeting Porthos, what would he then think of her? All those thoughts of her being aloof, unwanted, jealous and petty – surely he would begin to believe it true. She doesn’t know what he knows of her – doesn’t know how Aramis talks about her when she isn’t there. If he talks about her at all. 

Her fingers curl at the edge of the sink to keep them from shaking. She does not pull earrings out – studies her expression. Does she see a woman who is acceptable and loving? Someone who does not judge for something she’s only starting to understand piece by piece, never tried to understand before dating Aramis? 

She licks her dry lips and breathes out shakily, pressing the heels of her palms to her eyes and rubs, trying to sort herself out. She’ll be meeting Porthos soon, with Aramis. She has to pull herself together. 

She’s decided on the pearl earrings staying when she gets the call on her cell phone – a quick glance at the caller ID showing Aramis’ soft, gentle smile looking up at her from her screen. He is sun-warm in the picture, sleepy and just waking up in her bed, face smushed against a pillow in a way that can only look elegant. He’s smiling at her like she’s everything. 

She swipes to accept the call. 

And when Aramis says he’ll be running late because of work and Anne should head over to the apartment without him – Anne has been before, always when Porthos is out at work or out with friends – she feels a strange, giddy kind of fear twist up inside her. She hasn’t felt this nervous since she was a teenager, falling in love for the first time and unsure how to handle it. This isn’t quite the same, though – this is meeting your boyfriend’s boyfriend. Said boyfriend being present was always part of the plan, a bridge between two strangers with one very clear point of interest shared between them. 

“Aramis, no,” she says, because she doesn’t know what else to say. 

“It’ll be alright,” Aramis assures her, his voice soft and gentle – as it always is with her, and even if it is only over the phone, she feels a little safer, warmer, as if he is standing behind her with his arms wrapped around her waist gently, fingers splayed out over her hips and stomach as he nuzzles to the back of her neck and breathes out against the line of her jaw. “Porthos doesn’t bite, I promise. He’ll love you.” 

Anne closes her eyes, takes a steadying breath. She is not afraid – but she is nervous. She wants, so desperately, to be liked. She wants, so desperately, to like Porthos and not regard him as a jealous, unreachable point. 

“Alright,” she sighs out, because she can’t exactly unload that on Aramis while he’s running late and she’s supposed to be heading out the door soon to meet Porthos for the first time. She swallows down thickly and says in a quiet voice, “Wish me luck?”

“You don’t need luck,” Aramis soothes, his voice honeyed and warm, and she can hear his smile in his words. She shivers, can’t help but find herself smiling in turn. “Trust me, Porthos looks intimidating to others _somehow_ but he’s actually a giant teddy bear. And _you_ are wonderful. If he doesn’t love you instantly, it’s because he’s hit his head in a tragic accident and deserves sympathy as well as a stern talking to.” 

“Alright,” she says, laughing this time, and cradles her cell phone to her ear, tilting her head a little, feeling the clack of the pearl earrings against the phone. “I’m going to go now, then. Get there when you can.” 

“Of course,” Aramis agrees. He adds, gently, “I love you.”

Anne feels herself flush, happy, just like she always does – as if hearing it for the first time. “I love you, too.” 

They hang up and Anne takes a steadying breath, smoothes her hands down the front of her dress – plain, simple, the type of dress that Aramis loves to slip off her shoulders – and heads out towards the apartment. 

 

-

 

It smells like tomatoes when Anne gets to the door. It wafts out from under the door and Anne breathes out, steadies herself, and knocks. 

She hears a clatter of cooking utensils hitting against the countertop and then a deep voice calls out, “Hold on!” 

Anne holds still, stands straight, hands clasped in front of her before she thinks it’s too strange, tries folding her arms – makes her feel too withdrawn, lets them hang slack at her side but now she’s too aware of them. She’s fiddling with the strap of her purse when the door opens and she sees Porthos for the first time—

Aramis has described him, of course, although perhaps not in the best detail ( _his nose is so boopable,_ does not make for the most descriptive of images, after all), but he was at least correct in saying that he is handsome: he’s tall, bulkier than Aramis, but his face is handsome and gentle. He blinks once and then recognition seems to dawn on him and he smiles at her, slightly nervous, Anne thinks, or projects upon that smile – and Anne can understand the heart of Aramis’ various rants about how _it’s impossible that so many people should find Porthos intimidating of all things!_ because that smile is enough to set her completely at ease. 

“You must be Porthos. I’m Anne,” she says warmly, because she has always been able to be diplomatic, has always been able to be straight-forward and pristine when she must be – it is why so many people can mistake her for being aloof and distant. She wants, so desperately, to be warm and wise and everything that Aramis admires in her. She wants, so desperately, to be someone worthwhile for him and for Porthos to approve. Seeing his smile, though, any nervousness she felt melts away as she holds out her hand and he reaches out to grasp hers – firm but gentle, and shakes it. She gestures towards her bag, where her phone is inside. “Aramis is running a little late. He says he’ll be joining us as soon as possible.” 

Porthos’ smile turns slightly crooked and he steps back, opening the door wide for her. “He’ll be so upset he got to miss the moment we finally see each other.” 

“Yes, I suppose he would.” It isn’t an earth-shattering moment, by any means, but she knows how important it was to Aramis that they meet. When Anne had suggested the meeting, finally, after months, he’d lit up the entire room with his smile. 

She finds herself laughing at the thought and steps inside. She toes off her shoes and follows Porthos into his apartment. She knows the layout well, but it feels different to have Porthos occupying the space at the same time as her. For so long, Aramis was so certain and protective of them both, made sure that both orbited the same place but never actually met. She sets her purse down on the step leading away from the foyer and lets herself drown in the smell of tomatoes and basil. 

Neither of them really speak for a long moment – and again Anne wonders if Porthos feels as awkward and uncertain as she does. Likely not. He’s been with Aramis for years – he’s likely met many girlfriends and boyfriends. She is likely projecting. She looks down. 

“Sorry, you caught me in the middle of making food,” Porthos says, “Do you want a drink?” 

She shakes her head and settles for standing awkwardly at the kitchen peninsula’s counter. He busies himself at the stove for a moment and then glances over at her. He gives her a helpless smile. “You can sit down. Please, just make yourself at home.” He gives a little laugh. “You know your way around, after all.” 

She eyes one of the barstools and does sit down, smiling back at him just as helplessly. She’s embarrassed, feeling awkward, unsure what to say when meeting a boyfriend’s boyfriend. She’s never been in this situation before and she’s feeling a little hapless, to put it lightly. She again wonders if the pearl earrings are too much. 

She might as well be honest about it. Aramis often tells Anne how smart Porthos is – she doubts he hasn’t picked up on her nervousness. “I’ve never done this before.” 

Porthos pauses and looks over at him. He shrugs, and even if Anne doesn’t know him she really can’t be misinterpreting the mutual awkwardness. “I figured,” he says, not unkindly, not aggressive or accusing. “Aramis says that you were nervous about meeting me.” 

Anne does not blush but the urge is there. She clears her throat. “… Yes.” 

Porthos stirs a giant wooden spoon in a pot that wafts up that delicious tomato smell, and then puts a lid on that pot before moving over towards her. He stands on the other side of the peninsula and leans against it, arms folded in front of him. 

“It’s alright,” he says and Anne finds herself believing him, even if the words might sound hollow from anyone else. “You know – this is a newer situation for me, too.”

Anne smiles, a defensive gesture, unsure if Porthos is humoring her. He has, after all, been with Aramis for _years_. Aramis has explained his preferences – she knows she is hardly his first girlfriend. 

He must see her disbelieving look because he clarifies, “You know what he did the morning after your first date?” 

It feels like a very vulnerable thing to answer that she has no idea, that it’s a little strange to think that Porthos would know about the morning after their first date – much as it was, since it was more of a collapsing into each other, gripping tight at each other, drowning in each other—

“He called me and told me he was in love,” Porthos says and laughs, and Anne envies the way he says it so lightly, so happily – like it doesn’t bother him that Aramis could love someone other than him. “Don’t get me wrong – I mean. You must see it. Aramis? He loves to be loved and he loves to be in love. He loves to love others.” 

Anne breathes out, finds her smile a little more genuine as she thinks of him. She nods. “Yes.” 

“But it was the way he talked about you,” Porthos clarifies. “I’d never heard him talk like that about anyone before. Like you were everything he’d been looking for, like he didn’t know what to do with himself, like he was going to just explode with it.” 

Anne blushes and smiles, pleased. “… Aramis mentioned you were a poet.”

Porthos snorts. “Nah, that’s just him being romantic. It’s true, though.”

“… He speaks the same way about you, too,” Anne says, lightly, wishes she could be as free of jealousy as she wants to be, wishes she could be as calm about it as Porthos is. Something niggles down in her heart. She is happy, she is happy for Aramis – happy that Aramis can be true to himself, free to love, that he does love and is happy, that he finds her worth loving, too. 

Porthos shrugs, accepting her words, but not pressing it. “My point is… he’s always been the way he is, I’ve known it since before we ever got together. But he’s never fallen for someone so suddenly, so hard and so completely like he did you.” 

Anne wonders if it’s too late to ask for a drink. She wonders if Porthos is humoring her, if he can somehow see her ugliness splaying out inside of her. Her cheeks feel warmed, but she feels less awkward now – more at ease, if only a fraction. Perhaps Porthos has that way with people. His smile is warm and gentle, his words softer still – no aggression, no bitterness, no jealousy. She envies it. 

“I’m still getting used to it all,” she admits – it’s easier to talk about Aramis, rather than herself. She knows Aramis wanted her and Porthos to get to know each other, but it’s easier to talk about him. “It’s… a little overwhelming at times.” 

Porthos is opening a cupboard, pulling out some glasses. He offers one towards her and she breathes out a relieved sound and nods. He pours them some wine, left open to breathe on the counter. 

“I was jealous at first, you know,” Porthos says and Anne startles in surprise, stares at him and then down at her wine. She straightens her spine, sits up a little straighter in her seat.

“Really?” she asks, disbelieving. 

“The way he talked about you,” Porthos says. “I worried – for a little while there – I still got jealous. First time that’s ever happened, you know.” 

“I’m sorry,” she says, and finds that she means it. She doesn’t feel a wave of relief like she’d thought she might, hearing that – she doesn’t feel victorious that Porthos has been ‘knocked down’ towards her level. Mostly she fears it means she will never be able to be free of the envy. 

“It’s alright,” Porthos murmurs, shaking his head. “It’s something I gotta work through. Something that I have to work on. It helps to talk about it.” She realizes, in that instant, that he is opening himself up – that he is letting himself be vulnerable, so that she might see. She realizes, suddenly, in that moment, that Porthos is exactly as Aramis described – kind and gentle, wanting to set others at ease, so used to people being unhappy in his life and wanting to make it better as best he can.

She realizes, quite suddenly, why Aramis would be in love with him. 

She swallows down. Lets herself be brave. “I’m – I suppose I’m still a little jealous of you.” 

Porthos gives her a sympathetic smile and nods. “Yeah. I get it.” 

There isn’t judgment there, just understanding. She breathes out – feels better after having finally admitted it, after having someone finally understand. 

“Look,” Porthos says after a moment. “If you ever need to talk about this – kinda stuff, you just have to ask me, okay? Aramis hates it if he thinks he’s unpopular or making someone unhappy. And whatever you’re going through – at least on some level I’ve been there.” He fidgets, suddenly looking embarrassed. “Not saying that my experience is the same as yours, or like I’m trying to lecture you or anything. Just… you can talk to me.” 

He looks years younger in a sudden moment when he breathes out an embarrassed laugh and gives her a crooked, lopsided smile – turning higher up at one corner.

“Might be weird to talk to somebody you don’t actually know,” he dismisses, deprecating. 

Anne feels her heart swell and she’s shaking her head before he finishes the sentence. 

“Thank you,” Anne says, slowly. “It... I’ll remember it. Once we know each other more?” 

She hates how hopeful she sounds. 

Porthos smiles at her, wider – and he has dimples. 

“We will, though,” Porthos says. “I usually meet his girlfriends a little earlier than this, actually. He’s been really protective of you.” 

“He has?” she asked, surprised.

“He really, really wants me to like you.” Porthos laughs. “And you to like me.” 

“Oh,” Anne says. “I suppose your approval is… very important.” 

“He loves you,” Porthos says, must sense the underlying words Anne doesn’t allude to. Anne doesn’t feel ashamed to be pinpointed so thoroughly – she realizes it is not so much Porthos reading her as it is Porthos understanding a similar situation that he once knew. “He’d love you and be with you even if I told him to stop seeing you.” And he adds, quickly, “And I’m not going to. He loves you.” 

“And you,” she agrees. She looks down. “I just… I don’t like feeling upset about it. Or jealous. I don’t want to make it difficult for him. But I’m still… I’m still so new at this.”

Porthos shakes his head and laughs. “Aramis isn’t perfect either, you know. He’s the worst when it comes to jealousy.” 

“What?” Anne says, startled – she’s seen Aramis suave and debonair about so many things, always kind and always charming, always so gentle with her. She can’t quite picture him jealous. 

“Trust me,” Porthos says. “If you’re curious, bring up to him the possibility of you dating another man. You’ll see him bristle up faster than you can finish the sentence.” 

Somehow, this is vastly reassuring. Also endearing. She can’t quite picture the jealousy but she can picture the bristling. She smiles to herself and feels her shoulders relax. 

They talk for a little while longer, mulling away the minutes – she asks Porthos about Aramis, mostly, things she might already know but want Porthos’ perspective on. Aramis is a good bridge for the two of them and the conversation flows easier after that. 

Anne says, “Aramis tells me that you first met because he saved you from the—”

Porthos snorts out a loud laugh and sloshes wine upon the counter. He grabs a towel to mop it up while he starts chuckling all over again. 

“Oh God,” he says, “He’s really going to hate that he wasn’t here to stop me from telling you the true story. Okay, so, the way we met was…” 

 

-

 

Two hours later, Aramis finally makes it home in time to see Porthos and Anne sitting at the couch together while the tomato sauce simmers and laughing together like old friends. In the time Aramis has been gone, they’ve bonded over their schooling (Anne went to a prestigious school, Porthos less so – but they were both in the archery club; Anne was far more successful with it than Porthos ever was, who admits to joining it mostly to flirt with someone after hours), their siblings (Anne tells Porthos about her brother, Porthos tells her about his foster siblings), their favorite colors (Anne’s is gold, Porthos’ is red), their theory on various television shows and their characters (Porthos got very passionate about that), and so on. 

Aramis stands there for a grand total of thirty seconds before he says, in mock horror, “What have I done? I’ve brought together two people who are far too beautiful individually and now it’ll be the death of us all. I’m blinded by the beauty.” 

Anne blushes, recognizes his dramatics for what they are but still flushing happily. Porthos gives him a crooked smile and laughs in his face. 

“Guess we’re out of luck since the third beautiful person showed up and he’s the most beautiful of them all,” Porthos teases with a shit-eating grin and Anne laughs behind her hand. He glances at Anne. “Forgive me for saying so.” 

“I find I agree,” she says, knowing it wasn’t an insult towards her that he’d call Aramis beautiful. She’s glad that she finds herself genuinely amused, feeling lighter than she has in the weeks leading up to this meeting, fretting that she would not be _good_ enough. 

Aramis trots his way over towards them and his smile is almost boyish, hopeful as he looks between the two of them. 

He pauses before them and Anne glances at Porthos. Porthos nods his head towards him, so Anne stands up and goes to him, leans in and kisses him hello. Aramis sighs out happily and smiles against her lips, kisses her for longer than strictly necessary. His arms wrap around her and squeeze her tight and they linger close. It is strangely intimate to do this in front of Porthos, but she doesn’t feel embarrassed by it – instead, there is something warming about not having to be subtle. 

Anne is doing her best, she really is, and she’s proud of herself when she feels herself smile happily, genuinely, when Aramis leans down over Porthos on the couch and kisses him, too, hears Porthos’ pleased little sigh as they part. Two hours isn’t the longest time to know someone, but she’s beginning to understand the shape of Porthos’ smiles – which ones are genuine, which ones are defensive and dismissing. They are all bright. The one he sends Aramis now is a new one entirely, soft and secretive, as if he’s aching with longing and loves that feeling. 

“You two had fun without me, then?” Aramis asks. 

“I told her the truth about how we met,” Porthos says, abruptly, despite the fact that he’d made Anne swear that they’d never tell him the truth. 

Aramis looks so scandalized that Anne can’t help but laugh, ducking her head and examining the wood grain of the coffee table. 

“Anne,” he says, bewildered and heartbroken in the kind of way only a truly dramatic person can, “Don’t listen to him, he’s slandering me in an attempt to make himself sound more dashing and impress you.” 

“He didn’t have to make up a story to impress me,” Anne says simply and smiles over at Porthos. “I find that I’ve enjoyed his company all on his own. You were right about him.”

She’d been so afraid it’d be awkward the entire time, that she wouldn’t be able to relax. But somehow, without quite realizing it, Porthos set her at ease. 

“Then – you two like each other?” Aramis asks, looking between the two of them. Again, he looks so strangely boyish in that moment, and Anne realizes just how edge Aramis actually is, how loud and brazen he’s being simply to hide his nervousness – staring first at Anne and then at Porthos, so hopeful in that moment, so hopeful that the two people he loves most would like each other. 

Anne is cautious, not wanting to speak for Porthos, but Porthos is smiling stupidly at Aramis and then gives her a warm look in turn. She tilts her head and says, “I believe it’s fair to say that we do.” 

Aramis stops looking overly dramatic instantly and just grins at her like she’d just hung the moon and stars at once. He’s looking at her like he’s falling in love with her all over again and she laughs helplessly, holds out her hand to him and lets him take it, kisses her knuckles and then sits down between them, curling his arm around her and dropping his feet down into Porthos’ lap. He looks so deliriously, unreasonably happy that it warms Anne from the inside out. She leans into his hold. 

“Well,” Aramis says with a sniff, “I never doubted it. You’re both wonderful, why wouldn’t you be wonderful together?” 

She curls her fingers through with his and he squeezes lightly even as Porthos runs his hand over Aramis’ thigh and knee, squeezing once, his touch clearly gentle and unselfconscious. 

“Porthos is slightly less wonderful since he told you that horrible, terrible lie about how we met, though,” Aramis says. 

“She laughed about the squirrel costume,” Porthos offers. “She thought it was cute.”

“It was not –! And anyway it never happened!” Aramis says, voice pitching slightly higher than before. He turns towards her and kisses her temple. “Don’t listen to him, he’s slandering me.” 

“Alright,” Anne says, but there’s a tease to her voice that she knows Aramis hears because he lets out a low groan.

“I’m going to regret introducing you two,” he sighs out, but doesn’t actually sound the least bit unhappy about it. It’s strange to see this side of Aramis – slightly ridiculous, not trying so hard to please her and be everything she wants him to be, he feels a little simpler in that way. She thinks she likes this side of him, too. She’s looking forward to learning of other sides of him, of becoming more part of his world. She feels more at ease in belonging there, more like she is part of his life – soothed by Porthos’ assessment of her and Aramis’ feelings for her. 

“He mentioned something about a toaster, too,” Anne adds, because she can’t help herself – and she and Porthos both laugh while Aramis squawks his protest.

**Author's Note:**

> I can be reached on my [tumblr](http://stardropdream.tumblr.com/), as always.


End file.
